


Summers without popsicle are still summer

by Keamperia_Anderson



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28164510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keamperia_Anderson/pseuds/Keamperia_Anderson
Summary: A story of summer vacation , bus stop , beach , and popsicles.*Pairing: Antonio/Berwald(Am I the first one to write this pair?)
Relationships: Spain/Sweden
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Summers without popsicle are still summer

At the age of seventeen, Antonio had always been waiting for summer to arrive.

One year away from adulthood, he finally achieved financial freedom and half of his personal freedom when summer vacation arrived as promised. He also got a new bike. After painting the body in red and gold, the Bianchi became Antonio's new favorite. About every afternoon, the same route would repeated: ride to the bus station, buy two popsicles and keep riding.

Antonio's end point was at the coast. When he reached there, he would took off his shoes and socks and walked barefoot on the fine sand. The popsicles in his mouth melt a little and the waves lapping at his feet was equally cold. There's not much to memorize about this small town, if anything, it's the kilometers of coastline that attracts tourists every year.

Green is just some kind of summer add-on for him. The blue and white of the sky and the sea, the golden color of the sun reflecting on the beach are what he loves, as well as the wind which blew against his face and the popsicles in his mouth that relieve all the dryness-heat.

* * *

Meeting Berwald was a coincidence. Although Antonio never believed in coincidences. Those boys who dug for a love letter would insist that "there is only inevitability in this world". Isn't meeting someone inevitable? Isn't love inevitable? All of them are predetermined unconsciously, right?

So Antonio doesn't call it a coincidence, he calls it the result of countless cause-and-effects intertwining and finally gushing out.

That day, the popsicle he buys most often was sold out, and Antonio had to choose another. Taste of chocolate spread through his mouth, when he saw Berwald standing by the beach with camera in hands.

This guy was probably about his age. Antonio took only a few glances before concluding that he was not a local. Locals never come to the coast in pointy leather shoes and long-sleeved white shirts. When did he come to this place? Antonio wondered, staring at that pair of heavy-looking lenses.

The man turned around, unaware that the camera was focused on Antonio. Now he was standing against the light, and to Antonio's eyes, Berwald shone with a certain anonymous, mysterious glow. It's like the kind of light that is only visible at dusk and sunset. 

This area is usually not many tourists, at this time only the two of them.

A few short moments of dumbfounded, the next is a reflexive greeting, "¡Hola!",or, "Hello?"

The man nodded to him as he raised his camera in hands.

"Welcome to the town, my name is Antonio."

"Berwald," the man replied.

There must be a whole sea hiding in his eyes.

Even through a layer of lenses, Antonio still saw clearly. Using the most simple but apt metaphor, he thought, it must be an unfathomable sea.

* * *

When he told Francis about Berwald, he received an exaggerated upward tone on the other end of the line in response.

"That man actually talked to you? You're in luck Antonio!"

"Uh ...... is that special?"

"Geez, he's been over here for almost a week now and we've never seen him initiate a conversation with anyone, he's all alone with his camera going around snapping and snapping. That means, Tony, you're likely to be the first person to successfully strike up a conversation with him!" Francis continued in an excited and high-pitched voice.

Antonio hung up the phone and thought back to the coast and the sun and the tourist, in air-conditioned room.

* * *

They met again the next day, this time at the bus station Antonio always visits. After buying two popsicles as usual, he caught a glimpse of the familiar figure stepping onto the tram and recognized it immediately. Without much time to think, Antonio immediately leaned his bike against the side parking area and leapt onto the tram.

He didn't expect Berwald to also have bought a popsicle. The fancier one, in a nice bag, which was something that only rich people were used to buying.

Antonio waved to the other man, and Berwald recognized him and moved a few steps this way. The two were now standing with a seat away from each other. For it was summer, and for a bus with even all the windows open could not avoid the heat in the car, and for the popsicles would melt in a flash, so that people could not get too close to each other.

Berwald was holding a lift ring in one hand and camera strap in the other. He's still wearing a white shirt, but with short sleeves this time, and a small word "Hej!" written on left chest. Antonio looked down at what he was wearing, a white-bottomed T-shirt with the city logo in extremely saturated red that would not be used elsewhere. That's the difference between a slap-up suit and a cheap souvenir.

Antonio had a momentary fantasy thought. For example, the next time when bus braked sharply, he could loiter the freshly unpacked popsicle on that slap-up white shirt, in a position just symmetrical to the axis of "Hej!". Then he can apologize openly and take the shirt home in the name of washing it... Of course, the most important thing is to saying a few more words with Berwald. Antonio also has to be cautious to avoid the position of camera, after all, he was sure that the white shirt was within his ability to pay, not the camera.

Berwald's destination was on the same coast - and after realizing this, Antonio's Bianchi fell out of favor within a month. The daily repetitive path changed to walking to the bus station, taking the bus to the beach, then taking the bus again or just walking home.

The average conversation with Berwald was about three or five sentences a day. In Antonio's social circle it was definitely the bottom of the list, but in the whole small town, as Francis said, it would be Antonio's bragging rights for a whole year. But he doesn't want to show off, not to anyone. Although it was not a rare experience, he still clung to them like a squirrel and refused to let go of them for others to see.

Their communication was usually silent, along the empty coastline. Antonio would listen to MP3s, paces casually back and forth, and runs to a stone bench in the shade to dust the sand off his feet before leaving each day. Berwald was always photographing the sea and sky, the seemingly unchanging landscape, and sometimes the occasional passerby.

Antonio once asked Berwald why did he come here. Berwald answered that he came on vacation after high school graduation (when Antonio realized he was only a year older) and decided to record the scenery of same place for thirty days in a row.

But what will happen afterwards? Antonio wanted to ask him, will you leave after finishing these?

Antonio insisted on learning from the "negative optimist" approach, learning to drift along. As once a person began calculated the deadline, he can no longer look forward to the future with the same excitement. Standing at a sparsely populated bus station, waiting for Berwald with a popsicle in his mouth, this was when Antonio's day truly begins.

Antonio in that summer was not "shy" , or any other similar word that could be used to describe that kind of mood. The culprit was his blind pursuit of poetic. Boys who dig to write a love letter would feel that superficial things are all meaningless. Isn't the afternoon bus station the best metaphor? The slowly melting popsicles should symbolize something, right?

* * *

The only time Antonio had dream of Berwald, was just before one of the early mornings. He remembers the indistinguishable dream in which Berwald was holding a bag of popsicles - pink colored.

"Strawberry flavor." He explained.

"Hey, I can't believe you like this one." Antonio joked.

"Doesn't fit with the personal image ...... you think so?" Berwald stared at him extremely seriously, but there was an unprecedented softness in those eyes. The sea raised a wave.

"It's not like that! I'd like to have a taste."

What happened next was all in a confusion. It is impossible to say who came up first, perhaps in Antonio's memory it was himself. The touch of lips and teeth embracing each other was too clear to be false. The atmosphere crept up another degree celsius, but the tip of the tongue touched a touch of coolness. It was a kiss with a diluted strawberry flavor, still sweet.

Antonio's kissing skills weren't great, and Berwald didn't look like he had any experience at all. It wasn't until they was about to run out of oxygen that they finally broke away from the strawberry popsicle kiss.

"Just like this ......" Berwald's voice was being gradually disintegrated by a subtle tremor. Somehow, the only thing left in Antonio's heart was the urge to shed tears and the desire to kiss again, he would drown in the pupils of Berwald's eyes that were the same temperature as the sea, and would have no regrets.

The dream came to an end as water vapor poured in from all directions, and Antonio was still reluctant to open his eyes in the early morning sunlight.

The popsicle he buys most often by the bus station were sold out again, and this time he chose strawberry-flavored popsicles according to the illustrations in his dream. Under the ever-present blue sky and white clouds, he waited for Berwald to emerge, from the dream with strawberry flavor .

When exactly will he learn to shake off the pretensions of adolescence? The sea and wind and the man's dark blue eyes, the bus station of all summer long, and the popsicle in mouth, how can't these return to their original meaning. And how does "wanting to express mood in a straightforward manner" become an unreachable and difficult task? The world does not need metaphors or symbols, not even poetry.

* * *

That summer, strawberry popsicles at the bus station eventually melted into sticky sweet water. Like the arrival, Berwald's departure from the small city was in silence. No one noticed and no one said goodbye to him.

Antonio waited for hours at the bus station, only to receive a white envelope. When he opened it, there was simply a photo. He found himself in the center of the picture, wearing the clothes he had worn when they first met. That anonymous, mysterious glow surrounded him. It was a feeling that no amount of pretentious poetry could describe.

On the back of the photo is a message signed by Berwald, who writes,

"If we are lucky enough to meet again in this town, then let's go buy popsicles together."


End file.
